


You know, just hanging around....

by RedRose101



Series: Whumptober 2020 (FFXV) [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Captivity, Episode Prompto Spoilers, Minor Injuries/Violence, Restraints, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26770888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRose101/pseuds/RedRose101
Summary: Day One: Restrained/Shackled/HangingAs he wakes, the first thing Prompto becomes aware of is the pounding that seems to resonate deep within his skull. He groans, dazed and utterly baffled as to how his head came to be a stomping ground for a horde angry Behemoths. He goes to move his arm, when he notices that his right arm remains securely in place....It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on.
Series: Whumptober 2020 (FFXV) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951543
Kudos: 8





	You know, just hanging around....

**Author's Note:**

> So, despite the fact I am back at Uni full time and ALREADY stressing about my work, I thought it would be a fun challenge to participate in this year Whumptober 2020 list. I’ve been in a slight block these past few weeks in regards to my writing, so I’m excited to sink my teeth into something new. Just ignore the fact I’m already a day late, accidentally food poisoning is not a fun thing to have...
> 
> The prompt list I’m following can be found on the official Whumptober Tumblr blog, of which I’ve linked to below.  
> https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/post/628055505485561856/whumptober-2020-updated
> 
> Thank you for reading, and enjoy 😊.

As he wakes, the first thing Prompto becomes aware of is the _pounding_ that seems to resonate deep within his skull. He groans, dazed and utterly _baffled_ as to how his head came to be a stomping ground for a horde angry Behemoths. He goes to move his arm, an idea distantly forming to check his head for any sign of damage ( _Ignis would be proud…)_ when he notices that his right arm remains securely in place. 

_What….._

He attempts again, harder this time, then stops and attempts the left when his right feels almost nailed in place. Panic slowly begins to gnaw at him when he realises that neither arm will move from it’s position strung out to either side of his aching body. It’s only then Prompto takes notice of the solid weight pressed against his back, the vice-like grip almost crushing his waist, and the shackle that bind his wrists to the metal frame….

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on.

Letting out a small cry, Prompto twists and pulls at the bindings covering his wrists, only stopping when the pain of grinding metal against brittle bone becomes too much to bear. Blood begins to pool underneath yet he pays it little mind, more focused on trying to make head-or-tails of the situation he has somehow landed himself in. Did he crash, was he hit? The last thing he remembers with clarity is saying goodbye to Aranea in the snowy plains of Nifelhelm. What on _Eos_ happened between now and then that would cause him to be placed on display in some dingy cell? Prompto tries to think, but it’s getting harder to focus when his arms feel like they’re slowly splintering, his muscles crying out in pain as they try to hold the majority of his weight. The restraint around his waist offers little support, his whole frame being forced to slump forward as he lacks the energy to hold himself straight. Prompto wonders how long he’s been stuck in such a position. Has it been hours, or days, or _weeks_? It already feels like eternity, yet realistically he’s been awake for no more than a couple of minutes.

A part of him already wants to give up.

_You always were a fucking failure._

Vaguely, he can make out the form of someone in front of him, strutting around with purpose and gesturing with vigour. Prompto thinks that they may be talking, but thanks to the drumbeat still going off inside his skull all he can make out is an faint echo.They seem familiar somehow, a presence he _knows_ he should recognise, yet as of now the only thing Prompto can truly focus on is just how much everything _hurts_ . He blinks slowly, again and again, trying desperately to focus and figure out whether the figure in front of him is friend or foe. But he just…..he just _can’t_ anymore.

_He feels like he’s about to break in two._

Prompto decides to just keep watching the figure, transfixed by its movement and the small distraction it provides from the numbness that’s slowly beginning to crawl up his arms. He can still feel the vices of the shackles pining his wrists to the frame, but all that registers beyond that is pin-pricks and a growing coldness. It’s starting to feel like his arms no longer exist, and in his state Prompto can't decide whether that’s a blessing or a curse. He attempts to shift his right wrist in its shackles, a test to see whether the connection is still there, but all it accomplishes is grinding the edges further down into his skin and a pained gasp torn from his lungs. His movements do, however, attract the attention of the mysterious stranger, said form halting in his tracks, before striding over to where he lay trussed. Though the words begin to come clearer the closer the figure gets, the meaning is still lost on Prompto. 

“.....you really don’t understand it, do you child? By the time I am finished with that _pathetic_ shell you choose to call a body, you will be nothing more than a puppet dangling worthlessly from it’s strings.” He knows that voice, _he knows it_.

_But why cant he place it?_

“Please,” Prompto finally croaks out, voice raw from lack of use, “ _please_ help me…..”

The stranger ignores his pleas for help, choosing instead to delicately grab his chin and tilt his head slowly upwards. For the first time Prompto is able to clearly see the stranger’s face and-

_Oh God…._

_No, no no no no no_ **_NO_ ** _._

Prompto screams. He screams and screams and thrashes against his binds, desperately trying to rip his arms free despite the renewed pain it brings. Anything is better than being here, being stuck with _him_. If he can’t break free..

 _He’ll become one of_ **_them._ **

The bastard just smirks even further, grip tightening as he forces the two to maintain eye-contact. He leans in, voice no more than a whisper, and speaks the remaining dregs of his threat.

“But don’t you fret, my dear, because I promise you when that happens….”

“ _I will be right there to piece you back together again._ ”


End file.
